This is a poem
He loved her completely. Even when she was ignorning his ass. Even when she was fucking someone else and calling him up to tell him how good it was. After long periods of writing her letters, calling her, and getting humiliated, he started to hte her. He started to get in a lot of fights. He spent a lot of time alone. He worked overtime so he would have somthing to do.
He was an artist. He could turn his hands into fists. Like magic. Like a big black knight. Like battery acid. Like life with a hole in one of its tires.
She was beutiful and out of reach. He needed a song. He needed something to talk to him. He counted the days that he didnt call her. He thought of her all the time. No one is worth all that Bull Shit...
He was an artist. He could turn his hands into fists. Like magic. Like a big black knight. Like battery acid. Like life with a hole in one of its tires.
She was beutiful and out of reach. He needed a song. He needed something to talk to him. He counted the days that he didnt call her. He thought of her all the time. No one is worth all that Bull Shit...